I once had to grease a custom official's palm to get out of a foreign country, a wad of bank notes worth about 45p which went straight into his pocket. In fact, everybody on our flight had to, the thieving scrote. Talk to us about corrupt officials, or confess your own wrongdoing. We won't tell anyone.

Pointless "Fairholme" post.
There's this website, right? And this website has a thread that is solely dedicated to people going there to tell their stories, based upon a (supposedly arbitrary) topic each week.About 4 years ago a bunch of people from another thread on the website decided to spawn camp (google it you lazy cunts) in this thread. They bullied all of the regular posters - calling them liars, making out that the original posters were nonces and making up shitty, pointless memes that even 9gag would probably ignore. They turned the the thread from an active story-telling thread into a small-minded bullying shit fight. With one-shot "hahahahaha" memes. That got played out ad-nauseum to the point of obsolescence.

The pointless shit-flinging bullies made sure that they tried to be made moderators of the the thread or that they knew the mods on a first name basis so that they could whinge and moan to the mods in order to get whichever users they didn't like b&. So at least that's the part of this post that fits in with answering the question. Right?

End of the day? What was once a fairly interesting website has turned into a thread dominated by a group of small-dicked, weak-minded, prissy, wannabe bullies.
(snigglywiggly, Tue 8 Jul 2014, 9:59,
238 replies)

My uncle
once drove from Iran back to the UK, some great stories but the one most appropriate to this qotw relates to the Iraqi border security.

-----------Wavy lines back to the 70s------------

My uncle and aunt have lived in Tehran for a couple of years and decide to move back to the UK, so most of their gear is shipped, he buys a brand new Merc and decides to drive back. All is going fine until they are driving through Iraq from Baghdad to the Turkish border. A load of traffic is coming back in the opposite direction, including some colonial Brit types. They manage to flag someone down to ask what is going on and find out that the border is closed and everyone is heading back to Baghdad. My uncle, having grown up in Iran and being more familiar with the way things are done, thinks he knows better so carries on for the border.

On arrival at the border crossing, it becomes clear that the border is indeed closed, so he sticks a load of dollars in their passports and calls over one of the border guards "I realise the situation here, and totally understand how difficult things are for you, but maybe you could take a look at our passports and see if you could let us through." The guard takes their passports off and returns to tell them that "Inshallah, your situation is clear, of course we can make an exception." Before driving off, my uncle opens the passport to have a look and sees that there is still some money left in there. He looks at the guard who simply replies "I'm only a Sergeant".

The bribe had apparently been more fitting to someone more senior, and it would have been totally unethical to take it all.
(cymrococh, Fri 4 Jul 2014, 8:57,
15 replies)

Pointful "Fairholme" post.
There's this website, right? & this website has a thread that is solely dedicated to people going there to tell their stories, based upon a (supposedly arbitrary) topic each week.A few years ago a creepy nobody from another country decided to spawn camp (google it you lazy cunts) in this thread. He sullied all of the regular posts with his inane drivel – but he could not take criticism; making out that the any comment other than a compliment was 'bullying' whilst making up shitty, pointless fantasy justifications that even B3tards couldn’t even ignore. He turned all of his threads into a relentless small-minded bullying shit fight, with one-shot "hahahahaha" memes, that got played out ad-nauseum to the point of obsolescence. Yet still he carried on, using account after account, just not getting the message.

The pointless shit-flinging cretin made sure that he tried to be made the victim of the thread whilst threatening to inform posters' bosses of their 'crimes' & despite several bans, would continually whinge & moan to the mods in order to get whichever users he didn't like b&. So at least that's the part of this post that fits in with answering the question. Right?

End of the day? What was once a fairly interesting website has turned into a thread dominated by hundreds upon hundreds of replies to a small-dicked, weak-minded, prissy, wannabe story teller who is a glutton for punishment.
(The Magic Numberis neither magic nor a number, Thu 10 Jul 2014, 10:41,
30 replies)

Nigeria Immigration
Now I could say a lot about Nigerian corruption, although it is so endemic it is actually quite dull, the dash (bribe) is written into a lot of transactions and is pretty much just the cost of doing business. This is a recent tale (last month).

As someone who donates books to libraries (not part of an organisation or anything) I don't have much money so I don't bribe unless I have to - I tend to offer books instead. However, on my last trip I took the misses so whereas I am fine with taking risks by myself it's a bit different if I get a loved one arrested because of something stupid like "not signalling your intent to keep going straight at a junction" or whatever charge they want to dash me for.

So one day we were heading to a library in Badagry, just a few hours west of Lagos and approximately 60k from the border with Benin, and we started to pass through the road blocks. They tend to be several, stacked one after the other at 10 metre intervals; police, customs, immigration etc. We were waived through most of them, but were stopped by immigration (remember we were only 60 kilometers from the border!).

Keeping the boring bits to a minimum they wanted a dash as we hadn't had our passport stamped properly when we arrived - of course this could be corrected for a small dash, only problem was we weren't carrying our actual passports, only photocopies of the relevant pages (easier to get back from corrupt officials). All I had to do was leave the misses with the man at the checkpoint while I made a 6 hour round trip to Lagos to get our passports.

I tried persuasion, offering books, the name of my first born. Nothing worked. The argument got quite heated, he even flagged down an army truck just to prove to me how important he was that he could stop the army if he so desired.

In the end he gazes off into the distance sighed "it's thirsty work, all this immigrationing y'know, hint hint" (slightly paraphrased).

I couldn't believe we were going to be let off so easily. Beer is cheap (pennies) and readily available but I wouldn't wish Lagos traffic on my worst enemy.

So we turned around, found a beer seller and loaded up the boot and made our way back to the checkpoint. We got stuck in a little traffic jam but were soon moving, however the mass of cars around us must have made it more difficult to recognise our car as the official was scanning the distance for us as we drove right by him.

According to the Inland Revenue
- going by their tax returns - the average London Cabbie earns just £12,000 per year.

I think we should all bear that in mind the next time we use a Taxi in London and remember to dig deep and tip them well. Same goes for all those poor self-employed builders, plumbers, painters and decorators, tilers, plasterers, roofers and window cleaners - most of them don't even earn enough to come off the dole let alone qualify to pay tax or National Insurance.

So next time you see one, on holiday perhaps in Vegas, or down CostCo's, don't forget to remember just how lucky you are to live in a country full of decent types and not in one full of bribery and corruption populated by greedy fuckers who are just in it for themselves.
(buffet_the_appetite_slayerjacked into the ICE on, Thu 3 Jul 2014, 14:07,
Reply)

It's a mild form of corruption but it pissed me off all the same
My best friend all through primary school was a rather shy girl called Molly, who I stayed pretty close friends with when we moved up to high school. We'd catch the bus together, sit at the same table in the classes we had together and ate lunch together. It was the latter activity that saw the first signs of disharmony enter our relationship and stinking corruption rear its ugly head, for Molly had the good fortune to have an aunt working as a dinner lady.

There were those who mocked.."Ha ha, your Aunt's a dinner lady! Does your whole family dress in aprons and hold spoons!!" (Okay, so I can't quite remember the exact mocking that went on and I'm not very good at it myself), but all I saw were the benefits afforded Molly. Always the creamiest spoonful of mash, extra custard with pudding, a square of pizza from the center rather than a dry crusty corner piece. Sitting next to Molly in the dining hall the lime jelly was ALWAYS greener and all I could do was sit and brood over the lack of toad in my hole (STEADY!)

I'd like to say I led a food line revolution that struck fear into the hearts of canteen nepotism everywhere but I was far too busy cultivating the sense of muted indignation (with a side order of tutting and glaring) that has served me well in British society ever since.
(Ms Shenanigansput something interesting here later, Wed 9 Jul 2014, 11:08,
3 replies)

Corruption,... AHAHAHAHAHAHahahhaa
fucking hell - how long have you got?!

that story takes currently 10,554 days and counting.

I don't intend on it stopping any time soon.

So please plesasepleases vote SLIME and sSAVe a LIFE for christmas angels and the fishes in the mongychops life hole.

oh and he says he's sorry for being norty can't we all just be friends..

we'll he doesn't but he does seeem genuninely saddened by the whole thing. it's very mean and frankly if could get in here I'm sure he'd have nothing but nice things to say. but he can't be cause you took away his toys and left him nothing to play with.

That's not very nice and you should be ashamed.

you're foul treatment of his attempts at friendship on a comedy website are grossly disproportionate and clearly not effective.#

You corrupted him.#

youtook his toys away.

you're the wretched hive of scum and villany I don't know your names nor those of star wars characyters, and frankly I like neither things right now. Yopu george lucas cheese footed cloth moneys.

Nothing but wallets with pigtails and highly strung nanny egos.

it's game you,plonkers. just a ride a lovely slide to oblivion taken forever and ever and ever full stop our men are going to leave us our children may too rolf harris for every in hearts dark and murder be the child the twunt the twi t the twat the endless the frozen wastes of fish suspended in time and lake of hate and melons house farmers puss breakers.

Your gimlet cocked, ares will be socks on hers as it is in her melons,

give us today and take us away to oblivion slides and self made bouncey castles in the sky and forgive us not if we try to make heaven on earth. because we're being norty and greedy and we should save some for later.

Sensible corruption
Years ago I was at the then girlf's house with her mum who happened to be the thumpingest bible thumper this side of Greater Thumpingam in Thumpingshire.

They had some people round fitting double glazing and the guy doing it asked the mum if she'd mind paying him cash so they didn't have to declare tax. For whatever reason she asked me what I thought. I thought about it, moved my mouth around in a thinky fashion and suggested that she tells them she'll pay in cash if they do a decent job and maybe stick an extra year on the warranty or something.

Her eyes closed.

Her mouth curled upwards into a grin that could only be described as self satisfied.

"WELL MY CHRISTIAN FAITH WILL NOT ALLOW ME TO DO THAT", she declares, speaking the words as though she was giving birth to a golden child of wonder.

James
I was best friends with Sean at school. After we left, our lives took different paths, but we still found time to catch up every so often. We'd get stoned and watch the X-Files, and talk about conspiracy theories.

Over the years, we grew apart. I gradually stopped smoking weed, but he embraced whatever drugs he could get hold of. He got more and more paranoid. In hindsight, he obviously had serious mental health issues, but I was too close to see this clearly at the time.

He became a roadie for a rock band, and started hanging around with the drummer, James. This guy James was even more out there than Sean was. It was starting to dawn on me by this time that Sean's mental health was getting worse, fuelled by the drug culture he was immersing himself in. I felt that I should be trying to help him, but didn't know how.

Anyway, Sean invited me backstage after a one of the band's gigs. I'd never seen anything so decadent. It was pretty debauched, lots of half-naked people getting wasted. Sean and James were smoking god-knows-what and talking about the New World Order. I realised pretty quickly that there was no point in trying to talk sense to them - they were off their heads, and ranting about how the corrupt, powerful elites did each other favours while shafting the rest of us.

I drifted away from them, and had a nice chat with one of James's sisters, who seemed quite normal, and was very pretty. And flirty. As the evening wore on, I was fancying my chances of getting somewhere with her.

I went to the toilet to get some condoms from the machine, and opened the door to find Sean curled over the bowl while James fucked him triumphantly up the arse.

Has anyone said the organisers of Manchester Gay Pride yet? How to turn a free event into
a charitable status cash cow with top salaries for the organisers but not so much going back into the community in three easy steps.

Did not think so.

This one goes out to you Shambo, hopefully it is QAF dull enough.
(d.r._and_quinchwhen will you be famous?, Wed 9 Jul 2014, 8:46,
28 replies)

Junior Fingerprint Kit
When I was nine, I belonged to a science and technology Book-of-the-Month club, and thus obtained a Junior Fingerprint Kit. Shortly after, there was a hullabaloo next-door, a family of electricians, who suspected some of the local kids of shattering a large number of plastic fluorescent-light covers. I volunteered to ferret out the wrongdoers. Lo, and behold, amongst the plastic wreckage, I found a fingerprint, but since I had only just started gathering fingerprints of local kids, I had to first ask the target group for more fingerprints to assist the investigation.

Quite to my surprise, instead of offering his fingerprint, one of the five-year-olds cracked under pressure and confessed that he and a friend had broken the plastic fluorescent-light covers. He begged me not to tell, and promised improved access to his cousin's bicycle. Since there was only one bicycle in the immediate neighborhood at the time this was a valuable offer, but I knew that as one of the younger kids, he didn't have the clout to deliver. Still, it seemed unsporting to use anxiety and fear to extract confessions, so I ended the investigation, and left the crime officially unresolved.
(Perv With A Doghad his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 5 Jul 2014, 18:40,
1 reply)

I'll send a brand new unbuttpegged puppy to the first mod who bans the latest incarnation of that mental cripple rob "creepy paedo" ringofyre fairholme

Czech it out
October 1998, and for some reason which escapes me the UK had fallen out with the Czech republic, which is where I was going for work. So off the passport went for a special visa, all good.

Then we got to the border and the border guards said no way - they didn't recognise the visa, hence lining of pockets was had

Therefore I can say hand on heard I've bribed border guards $100 cash to cross in to a country and successfully put it on expenses:)
(Ogwen69is imagining you naked..., Wed 9 Jul 2014, 8:49,
2 replies)

Zuggox
The most corrupt officials I have ever encountered in all my travels through Time and Space are the Qoskelry of the planet Zuggox.

Zuggox is, or rather was (or rather will be) an ancient, stormy planet at the very edge of the galaxy, distant from the spaceways and mostly ignored by offworlders. Over the aeons, it developed unmolested through various civilizational phases from barbarism through feudalism and had stalled at a sort of mediaeval bureaucracy. The planet consisted of one very large ocean teeming with the kind of sea life that would consider a Kraken a light snack, which encircled its single continent, Fum. Fum was all mountains and jungles, and most of the roughly humanoid population lived either in fortresses built into the mountains, vast networks of treehouses woven into the canopy of the jungle, or ramshackle coastal fishing communities.

The economy of Fum revolved around trade between these three sectors of Zuggoxian society. The mountain dwellers provided raw materials, stone and metal, the shore people provided fresh fish (often risking life and limb in the dangerous oceans of Zuggox), and the foresters provided timber, meat, fabrics and the like. It was a thriving, busy place and the seafood was fantastic.

Zuggox was under the absolute rule of a monarch, appointed every fifty years by the Ceremony of the Borrowed Binders of Ataratarat. I was there under the rule of King Todborong, a fat, indolent, ignorant and rather cruel oaf; that was the problem with monarchy appointed by ancient ceremony, you didn’t have much choice over who wore the crown, and had to accept the judgment of the Borrowed Binders.

Fum was split into three hundred Cantons, each one under the auspices of local Qosks, appointed according to a series of arcane rituals and procedures known as Qoskage. Each canton had its own Qoskelry comprising a Prime Qosk, who was in charge of the Canton, a dozen or so Underqosks acting as administrators, and around a hundred Qoskeens who enforced the law as laid down by the Prime Qosk. Tax evasion, smuggling, prostitution, slavery, gambling and more were all rife throughout the three hundred Cantons of Fum, and all illegal, so the local Qoskelry was kept very busy. The demands on the Qoskelry varied from Canton to Canton, but, broadly, the Mountain Cantons (Utats) had terrible problems with slavery (especially the mines), prostitution and other ‘people crimes’, the Forest Cantons (Reheens) were hotbeds of gambling and drug manufacture and the Coastal Cantons (Graints) were obviously perfect for people trafficking and smuggling.

I was on Zuggox mainly for a holiday, after just having barely escaped from a particularly nasty skirmish in that eternal, annoying war between the Sontarans and the Rutans. I’d been forced to eat Sontaran flesh for several months, and it had given me cancer, which I’d used some of my regenerative powers to cure, and I was weak and needed to recuperate. Somewhere simple and out of the way like Zuggox was perfect, so I settled down in Reheen Shiii Canton where I lived in a lovely little treehouse overlooking the Southern Sea, carving figurines for the Zuggoxian children. Once I was feeling stronger, for a change of scene I moved into the mountains and took up a post as Underqosk in Utat Wohaelminig Canton. and that is where I encountered Qharmly d’Oisps.

He was a strange little man, in appearance nothing to shout about, just a grey rather confused looking chap with white hair. He wore the traditional garb of the Prime Qosk – purple pantaloons, a long black jacket embroidered in gold, an insanely frilly shirt and a quite incredible hat that looked like a cross between a tricorn and a tea cosy. He was my boss for the time I lived in Utat Wohaelminig.

Within a few hours of taking up my post as Underqosk I discovered that corruption was rife in the Qoskelry. It varied from Canton to Canton, but all of them were on the make in some way or another, and it was worse in the Utats, as they saw themselves as above the law by dint of their elevated, montane position. Utat Wohaelminig was rotten to the core and Qharmly d’Oisps was in on every racket going. (It was even rumoured that d’Oisps had fixed Qoskage in his favour.) Protection, extortion, drugs, prostitution – you name it, the Qoskelry had it sewn up. They made the Krays and the Corleones look like rank amateurs. At first I was against this – if you’ve seen the movie Serpico, well, that was how it was for me. I even looked a lot like Al Pacino in that incarnation. Unlike Frank Serpico, however, I rolled over and joined in with the other members of the Qoskelry, as I didn’t (and don’t) particularly care about ‘morals’ and it seemed stupid to resist when there was so much money to be had, and so many young Zuggoxian beauties to fuck.

In the end I had to leave Zuggox because they found out what I did to Qharmly d’Oisps, but that’s another story.
(Dr Skagraglorious glargzhem, Tue 8 Jul 2014, 20:16,
9 replies)

I was sent to boarding school, which was in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere.
When we joined the main school from the junior school, one of the lads in the year came back from holiday with a prisitine copy of a porno mag, and made anyone who wanted to have a look pay him 50p and print, sign and date their name in his book.

He was the most powerful boy in our year for that half of term.
(Je suis un vagabondis an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 8 Jul 2014, 10:13,
5 replies)

years ago I was riding a motorbike through the vietnamese countryside when I was waved down at a police roadblock by two armed blokes who looked like soldiers
they started talking at me and pointing at me and my bike, but I didn't speak any vietnamese apart from "sorry" and "broken. can you fix?", both of which I'd used often. They were quite animated and seemed to get increasingly frustated, and one even wrote a number down on a piece of paper and started waving it my face. I shook my head and shrugged. I honestly didn't know what the fuck they were talking about. Eventually they let me go. It was only later I learned the cops there were notorious for shaking down passers-by for a bribe. Naivety sometimes gets you through
(cumquat mayNow with 20% more cum, Fri 4 Jul 2014, 11:32,
Reply)

Corruption by coffee
Well, I was walking down the road the other day, and this wierd looking ginger haired cunt approaches me. He trys to look into my eyes, and as you do, being a driver of a Austin Allegro (Not just any old Austin Allegro, mind, this is M&S branded Austin Allegro with BROWN Velour Seats) and having taken MASSIVE DRUGS (Marks and Spencer 1 a day Vitamins), I try to avert the gaze that only a dog fingerer can give.

"Well howdy!" says the cunt, when all of a sudden his eyes just suddenly flicker... they turn.. THEY CHANGE I FUCKING TELL YOU!

THE EYES! THE EYES! Right inside, a orange colour and the circles insides... they rotate and change and rotate and then the middle is like an EVIL MAN ABOUT TO DO A GOATSE.....

So, I said, like, I'm a proper man who has a three million litre soap dish made of the salt of an Australian man's tears. Just bear in mind it is filled with the juices of all the babez love honey from across the world, so fuck you, ok?

OK, then my reply to this ginger fuhrer was, like, if you want my eyes, you can have my dog. But my dog doesn't like being fingered, so that was that.

But, he then zaps my eyes with this wierd ray that corrupts my brain and makes me sign up for a direct debit for some coffee that tastes like my own personal shit, and when you mix it with semi skimmed milk, the Austin Allegro refuses to start. Cuntfuckery going on here, I tell you.

I saw a fabulous sight in Brazil. There was a crowd of people clustered around a building, scrabbling for something on the ground, and occasionally cheering. From a balcony above, a woman was throwing papers down, which was what the crowd was collecting, with apparent glee.

Turns out that she was the wife of an important politician, who had just discovered that he was having an affair. Her response was to throw his secret files - the ones detailing all his dodgy deals - down to the press in the street below.